steadypour

[steadypour]

Meredith's words linger long after the jingle of the bell on the door has faded. Loretta decides something in the silence that eventually follows. Almost instantly, in fact.

She is never letting someone stick around after close again.

The small muscles in her face and neck go rigid as she senses Loretta's stillness across from her. A cool, nervous, sweat breaks out along the back of her neck and near the hairline on her forehead. She's never been good at talking to be people, but why did she insist on continuing saying the most out of pocket shit. She winces at Loretta's comment as if she was being flecked with hot oil.

"I know," she whispers, even though she doesn't. She couldn't imagine losing a loved one. She couldn't even imagine having anyone love her that much. It's been said that a mother's love is stronger than diamonds, but her own relationship with her mother has proven love is conditional always. She shakes her head softly. "It was a stupid thing to say." She mutters.

Meredith jumps slightly at the touch against her arm. She lets out an uncomfortable laugh at Loretta's comment. "I suppose there isn't. I think I just need to keep my mouth shut." A sentiment always echoed in her parents' voices. With that she turns to begin digging through her purse. She lays a twenty out on the table slowly. "Again, I'm sorry." A sentiment she was sure Loretta has heard millions of times. "For it all," she adds before scooting out of the booth.

She looks at Loretta one final time, searching her eyes with a deep intensity she rarely lets others witness "You deserve the world, Loretta Durst." She smiles softly and turns to walk out of the diner.

[steadypour]

“I feel like we’re not alone right now.”

He has been sick for days, though they could find no cause for the fever down at Family Medicine. It's not unusual, the doctor told her, infuriatingly unconcerned. Kids get sick. It's true that Loretta had always been a worrier. A young girl with no experience in mothering, she always took him in for the smallest of sniffles. She had old Doctor Kelly's number on speed dial before he retired, and she'd call him even after, until age took over his mind and he was moved into a home. But this is no malingering, no ear infection like she has ever seen. This time, Loretta knows it's something more. The way mother's often do, she feels it in her bones.

He's restless when he sleeps, delirious when he wakes. It isn't the first time she's heard him speaking to himself, carrying on a conversation she can't quite follow from the bottom of the stairs. It scares her, the way he pauses for an answer before speaking again. She steels herself before starting her slow ascent, flinches when she makes contact with the perpetually creaky step. Immediately, the muttering stops. It always seems to when she's in earshot. It makes her feel crazy ─ like she's imagining it altogether. Lord knows Loretta wishes she was.

"Were you talking just now?" Tommy doesn't respond as Loretta enters, coming to sit beside him on his bed. She reaches out to touch his forehead, finding it covered in a fresh sheen of sweat. "Oh, you're burning. Let me go grab you a cool wash cloth." But when she moves to stand again, his small hand shoots out, curling around her wrist. It startles her into submission, brings her right back down to her spot. I feel like we're not alone right now, mama.

For a good minute, Loretta is too terrified to speak. When she finally does, her voice shakes. She isn't sure who she is trying to convince. "It's just us here, baby." Tommy doesn't look at her, vacant eyes staring just past her shoulder, out into the hall. It's a fearful look, a knowing one. And Loretta's skin crawls. She feels that prickling sensation, like you do when eyes are boring into the back of you. Right into the base of her skull. "Tommy," a bit firmer now, she takes his chin in her hands and guides his face toward her. She has seen the drawings under his bed. The ones of his doorway. The ones of the hall. "There's no one else here." Loretta believes she can make it so. "It's just the two of us."

[steadypour]

"Careful now, Sheriff. You wouldn't want to be caught sounding nostalgic. Or is that a touch of sentimentality?"

Shared history is a fact of life in a town like Bone Gap, where everyone knows everyone and secrets can't be kept. It made things difficult, added context. Knowing what the man before her looked like as a child, before he grew into himself, knowing him before the badge or title. The pair have orbited each other's lives through all the awkward phases of youth, through his marriage and subsequent divorce, through Tommy's disappearance and the years that have followed.

After all that, it was impossible to see just a uniform.

That was a difficult thing for Loretta to learn in the early days, when she was still reeling and looking for someone to blame. Bone Gap Police Department failed her then. But whatever anger she leveled at Diego over the case going cold, however he may have taken it, always felt somehow misplaced.

"They're starting to get away from me." So many years, all caked up like dirt, hidden under layers of faded white paint. "Last time I was in this place. Oh," an exhale of breath, a sharp sensation in her ribs. "I was angry at the world."

"I remember how I couldn't go fishing without thinking about the insect life trying to colonize that dead fish. I've caught them, cleaned them, but seeing it like that was enough to put me off fish for a while." Diego replied almost instantly, turning to look back over his shoulder as if Bill's ghost might just be there, ready to pull another prank on them all no matter how terrible the timing.

But Bill was long gone and so was that fish, the odor gone and the carpet even replaced. But the pews were the same, weren't they? The thought causing a frown to mar his face as he remembered kids scratching their initials in it, or sometimes already finding them there because eventually you had to share a letter combination with someone. L.D. could stand for Larry Douglas as easily as it could Loretta Durst, and there were a lot of names that started with T.

"These walls have seen a lot of years." He finally said, turning back to Loretta and seeing her superimposed for a moment. Her now, her as a child at school, and her when Tommy disappeared. With all the memories tied up in Loretta, all the stories and feelings, the strongest one that always rested right there on the surface was guilt.

[steadypour]

All activity ceases, her fingertip stills in its attempt to buff a smudge out of the butter knife. Even her breathing takes a moment's pause. Loretta knows what it is to be haunted by possibility, by the could-be and might-be of it all. But it has never seemed so perverse to her as it does now, blurted out of someone else's mouth.

"Hope is cruel. Strings you along like a bad boyfriend."

Loretta still roots around in a panic when her phone rings in the middle of the night, still finds herself hoping the voice on the other end will say Tommy has been found─whether as a living and breathing thing, or a pile of bones. It almost doesn't matter which anymore, really, if it will finally put an end to the wondering.

"I shouldn't say that before a vigil, but─well, embracing the alternative is kinder."

A hollow laugh, tired. "Christ, I could go for that whiskey now."

When at last she looks up, her expression softens. Loretta leans forward, reaches over the table to squeeze Meredith's arm. "There's just no right thing to say. About any of it."

Meredith watched the reflection of the late afternoon light dance on the surface of her half-gone cup of tea, now cold. Her hands continued to fidget damply in her lap, but the buzzing nerves seemed to steady in Loretta's presence. She swallowed again before speaking.

"I think so," she said - a mutter laced with confusion, as if she were arguing with the silent force of her overthinking brain. "I don't know, it seems like they're mourning her death already. She could come back. They both could." Her eyes shot to Loretta after the words of her last sentence left past cracked lips.

"Jesus, Loretta, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." She didn't allow herself to finish. She flipped her gaze downward again pulse quickening with the emergence of her stupid comment. Once again talking without thinking it over. Hands worked at the hem of her floral skirt, eyes glued to the table.

[steadypour]

She walks toward the exit as if in a fugue state, not entirely conscious of where she is going. All Loretta knows is that she needs air. Needs to get away from the overly fragrant perfume, the hymns, the crocodile tears─it is nauseating, being here. Still, she maintains her composure. There is no pomp or ceremony when she drops the programs she's been clinging to in the trash and walks out the door, drawing no attention to herself.

The earthy scent of a summer storm greets her as she steps off the white porch, humid air wrapping around her like an embrace. She isn't the only soul seeking respite from the overcrowded church, as it turns out. Luckily, no shade of pity or pretense hangs over her with Amelia Mercer. That is to say, neither of them are particularly familiar with the other's history. Loretta likes it that way.

She may have sworn off chain smoking years ago, but she still keeps a pack of Marlboros in the kitchen for moments like this one. She accepts the offered carton wordlessly, plucks a cigarette from the pack, places it between her teeth.

"You're wrong about that."

"I think a couple'a smoke breaks in front of the townies would do wonders for your reputation." A pause. "City folk, they're just like us."

CLOSED for @steadypour

The vigil was sad, but of course it would be - it was for a troubled young girl who was not yet dead, not quite alive. Amelia couldn't help but remember one rainy night some months ago, when Eliza banged on the clinic door late one evening. I need something to make my head quiet, she begged. I'm not a psychiatrist, Amelia replied coldly before turning Eliza away. It wasn't that she didn't want to help, but her hands were shaking and her vision was blurry from the second bottle of wine. How was she supposed to treat someone else's problems when she was a disaster herself? But what could have changed if Amelia opened up the door to someone who begged for help?

When an older member of the church began yet another prayer, she backed towards the doors then slipped out quietly. Everyone was far too occupied with their own grief to notice one missing person. There was far off thunder and clouds were racing for the church, but rain hadn't begun to fall yet. She had at least ten minutes until she'd have to head back in, from the looks of it. A Marlboro contrasted the Loewe purse it was pulled from, but Amelia needed something to keep her sane. One drag, two drags, three drags.

The door opened gently, but the sound still made her jump. Luckily, Loretta wasn't the kind of person who cared about the city doctor persona. Amelia didn't put up any pretenses around her, because she would probably be more annoyed than impressed. " Don't tell anyone. " Amelia offered the pack to Loretta. " A cigarette smoking doctor might not go over well. "

[steadypour]

If Loretta had a nickel for each time she'd wished the ground would open up and swallow her, well... her debts would all be squared, to say the least. Smile fades slowly as she studies the candle in her hand, trying to balance the past and present in her mind. Her thoughts muddle until they are one congealed pool, like the wax weeping from her taper. Undone not by flame, but by time.

"She's always been a good kid."

And she means it. By way of her friendship with Rory, Eliza became something of a surrogate daughter over the years. Loretta could never hold anything against her, much less judge her like most of the folks in attendance do. But she knows something they don't. Knows that Eliza and Tommy must have found themselves in the same place, victims to the same fate. She hopes they have each other, at least.

“But I wouldn't blame you for leaving. Don't know that anyone could."

Nose crinkles, a shake of her head. "Except the old church gals who organized this thing." Loretta's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "But they're meaner than hell anyways."

“Would’ve bet good money on it,” he said, eyes skimming over bowed heads and flickering flames. “Smoke, fire, the works.” His voice was low, a little hoarse — like it didn’t quite belong in a place like this. Like he didn’t. Not really. He stuck out, and he knew it. Figured that was half the reason the bulletin had said everyone was welcome — because of people like him. Faces they didn’t expect to show. Loretta, on the other hand, looked like she belonged. Like the candle fit her hand the way it was supposed to. He could swear he’d seen it before. He scratched at the side of his neck, suddenly aware of the heat in the room. How thick the air was with wax, old wood, and dried tears. He didn’t come to church anymore. Hadn’t in years, not unless he had to. The last time had been for Paul’s funeral — all low murmurs and candlelight, the kind of grief that echoed in your bones. But the rest of it — the way the light trembled, the way sorrow seemed baked into the walls — reminded him of something further back. Another vigil. One he’d barely remembered until now. He must’ve been just a kid, but everything about tonight scraped against the edges of that old memory. The same ache. The same silence pretending to be peace. “Didn’t think I’d stay long,” he admitted, finally glancing at her. “Still not sure I will.” He paused, let his eyes flick back toward the altar, the crowd, the careful quiet. “Figure I’ll wait to see if the floor gives out under us first.” A beat. The corner of his mouth twitched. “You hear any creaking, you run. I’ll follow.”

[steadypour]

Until this point their interactions have always been scripted, confined to the roles of employee and customer. Predictable, routine. Loretta knows Meredith's order, what booth she'll sit in, how much of a tip she'll leave. Even so, it's becoming clear that this particular regular is a relative stranger.

No matter. Loretta bats the apology away in earnest, enjoying the stillness, the quiet. She doesn't suggest they leave, nor make a move to clear the table. She just sits.

An affirmative nod, fingers move on their own accord to toy with the utensils on her side of the booth. "The thing at the church tonight." Loretta is unsure how to sidestep the subject now that it has been broached. The rules of their tentative hideaway are breached, the sanctity of this booth somehow tarnished by the lingering obligation just outside of it.

"I take it you're attending?"

She sensed Loretta making her way toward her and her spine almost instinctively began to straighten. Her stomach tightened as Loretta's footsteps slowly approached her table. Meredith had always felt that her and Loretta had a simple and symbiotic relationship. She could enjoy a well-brewed cup of Early Grey in silence and Loretta could pocket a hefty tip. But that didn't make her any less uncomfortable with one-on-one interactions with a person. She cleared her throat as Loretta sat down across from her.

Her lips tilted up slightly in a semblance of a smile at her comment. "Whiskey gives me heartburn." She remarked, eyes fluttering up to meet Loretta's but quickly falling back to her mug. Her hands shifted from the mug to her lap, where she interlaced her sweating hands tightly in attempts to calm the quaking that seemed to be resonating from inside of her bones.

She almost jolted at Loretta's remark about the empty diner. "Oh," Was all she could manage, snapping up her head to glance around at the diner's empty tables and "closed" sign. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the plastic squeaking under her weight. "No, sorry. I didn't realize you were closing early today. Is it because of the..." She trailed off and cleared her throat once more. "The, uh... thing at the church tonight?"

[steadypour]

[steadypour]

It was clear to her from the moment she walked in the doors: Loretta was not going to make it through the night without a task. Under normal circumstances she did her best to steer clear of the church ladies—she never was a fan of heights, or horses. Tonight though, she swallowed her pride and sought out them out. If she was going to be here, she wanted to be useful.

That's how Loretta found herself stationed at the end of a pew, handing out programs to people who barely looked her in the eye. Oh, how the mighty fall.

She's pulled back into the present by a voice, only to be thrust back into the throes of yesteryear. At least this was a kinder sort of nostalgia.

"They came to their senses quick enough." Nothing like the church at midnight to bring out the devil in a group of small town kids. She's smiling before she realizes, half here and half somewhere else for a moment. Somewhere sweeter. "Do you remember the year Bill Thompson brought in that dead fish? Stuck it under the pew?"

Diego had never been an overly religious person - he believed in himself more than a single large deity out there ruling the cosmos, or turtles carrying the world on their back, or that the earth was secretly a womb or whichever thought process you belonged to. He wasn't going to say there weren't powers out there stronger than him, but common sense said that humans weren't the top of the food chain without getting metaphysics involved, so he was hardly going out on a limb.

But if Diego were to ever pinpoint a moment where it felt as though his soul hummed, it was listening to a church choir and voices harmonizing. Something about it was electric and while he didn't think he'd win any talent competition, singing church hymns was a guilty pleasure he hadn't let go of. He didn't have a lot of those in life and maybe it was wrong of him to look forward to any part of this service, but the small pleasures of life were vital, especially when the days were so dark.

Rubbing his thumb against a crinkled corner of a program, he leaned forward and felt something pull in his back from the motion. Too much time spent hunched over, but who was surprised? He wasn't getting any younger, might as well start talking about hard candy and the weather. Speaking of which… "Good thing we have the candles, sounds like the power may go out before we're done. Be just like the sleepovers this place used to have."

[steadypour]

closed starter for @thornburghs, at 12 hollow lane (after the vigil)

Today has proven a wound for which there is no salve.

But hey, you can't blame a gal for trying. Eyes search the darkness from her perch—an old porch chair that has seen her through more of these moments than she can count. Heavy, guilty, selfish moments. Here is the plain truth: vigil or no, it isn't Eliza Grant that Loretta hopes will wander back out of those woods.

She's caught somewhere between disappointment and surprise when headlights pull into the driveway, though both feelings temper slightly when recognition dawns on her. Sometimes the best salves aren't always what you'd expect.

"Why, Mrs. Mayor," a snort as the blonde walks up the gravel drive. Loretta sips her whiskey from an old mug. Luckily, she doesn't have enough shame to feel self conscious about that. Even, and perhaps especially, in Jo's presence. "I didn't know you paid house visits."

[steadypour]

ruth negga via instagram

[steadypour]

closed starter for @dccaying, at first assembly baptist (during eliza's vigil)

Loretta arrives at the vigil later than intended, lights her candle, offers silent support. She tries not to think about the last vigil held at First Assembly Baptist, which also happened to be the last time she stepped foot in this place. A revolving door of tragedy and loss and empty hope, that's all the church would ever be.

But this isn't about her, and Loretta strives not to be the self pitying sort.

When she sees Elijah tucked away in the corner, looking like a boy who wandered into the wrong room, she's struck by the familiarity. He looks like he did all those years ago, lost and helpless. A question of whether he remembers or not slips in unbidden, but Loretta knows better. Questions like those aren’t worth the asking. Or the aching.

“Surprised you made it over the threshold,” a wry smile as she approaches. Loretta knows (maybe better than anyone) that Eli finds more comfort in hard plastic booths than church pews. That makes two of them.

“Half expected we’d both go up in smoke. What with the whole unrepentant sinners thing and all.”

[steadypour]

It's earlier than usual to be flipping the sign from open to closed, but Loretta does it anyway on account of wanting to show her support. Or rather, needing to. With the doors locked and some semblance of privacy achieved, she allows herself a sigh. It's a small consolation on an otherwise trying day to take a moment's pause. To be alone, finally, to her thoughts. Well—almost. After letting down the blinds and closing out the tills, there's just one task left to check off before Loretta can leave for the day. And that task is sitting in the same booth as always, tucked politely out of the way, nursing a cup of tea. The truth is, she's in no rush to shoo anyone out. Meredith's presence is the last thing tethering her here, delaying the inevitable. It's for that reason that she takes her time approaching, untying her apron before tossing it on a nearby tabletop. "I prefer mine with a shot of whiskey." Loretta slides into the booth, donning that easy familiarity that she wears with all of her regulars. "Christ, y'all sit on these things?" A forced laugh, an attempt to add some levity to the heavy mood that has settled over the world these past days.

Eyes study the other intently, roles reversed if only for a moment. The observer being observed. "Not sure if you realize," Loretta is willing to bet that she has—they're both hiding here, aren't they? "But this old place is a ghost town right about now."

º Closed Starter º Before the Storm

Meredith and Loretta

Location: Fat Cat Diner : Before the vigil

Her nerves rattled almost as much as the old glass door to Fat Cat Diner did when she pulled it open to walk inside. Other than her house and her bedroom, this diner consistently felt like a safe space to Meredith. The townspeople never paid her any mind - too enveloped in their own gossip and drama to even glance her way. It was the perfect place to observe, listen, and enjoy a hot cup of tea or, if she was feeling naughty, a warm slice of pie. It’s not that mom and dad never allowed tea in the house. They just always had a snarky something to say on account of them not liking it. “This is a coffee house only,” Deena would say when she saw Meredith enjoying a cup of earl grey. “Just herb water,” her father would chime in. To avoid the confrontation and hassle of it all Meredith just stopped buying it altogether. She scooted into her regular corner booth near the restrooms. Her hands were sweating, cold, and starting to shake with the prospect of attending the vigil later this evening. She was rattled and she couldn’t quite place why. Perhaps it was the recent disappearance that had her on edge. Bone Gap rarely saw crime these days. A bright pink spray painted smiley face on the side of the, now closed, Dollar General was the last "major crime" she could remember. It even made the front page of the local news. No, a large-scale incident like a missing person hadn’t happened since… Meredith’s eyes raised from her menu to land on Loretta Durst. Since Loretta’s boy. She tried to swallow down the dryness she felt crawling up her throat, quickly shifting her eyes back to her menu.

[steadypour]

STEADYPOUR ─── A DEPENDENT ACCOUNT FOR FIRSTROTRPG, FEATURING "LORETTA DURST" AS THE LAMENT. HAUNTED BY B.

DR. EVANS:    What are you afraid of? LORETTA:    What those woods take they hold on to, Doctor Evans. Bodies or bones or a lost shoe. They keep it all, and they taunt you with it.

basics …

GIVEN NAME.    Loretta Lynn Durst. Yes, like the singer.    NICKNAME(S).    Lynn.    AGE.    Forty-nine.    DATE OF BIRTH.    February 22, 1976.    PLACE OF BIRTH.   Bone Gap, Indiana.    GENDER IDENTITY.    Ciswoman, she/her.    FAMILY.   Thomas "Tommy" Durst, son (missing since 2003). Charlotte Durst, mother (passed away in 2017). Earl Durst, father (left Bone Gap when Loretta was two).    OCCUPATION.   Proud owner of the Fat Cat Diner.

characteristics …

HEIGHT.   Five foot three.    EYES.   Hazel brown, and very kind.    HAIR.   Textured/curly. Black. Often worn up when working.    BUILD.     Petite frame, thin with narrow shoulders and hips.    ETC.    Her hands smell of honeysuckle soap and steel wool. They are strong and rough with use. She keeps her nails short. Scar on her left shin from being bit by a dog when she was younger.   HOBBIES.    Dancing. Mostly alone in her kitchen, these days.    TENDS TO.    Pick up the tab, hum while she works, tell the truth.    TENDS NOT TO.     Suffer fools, ask for help, cast judgement.  MORAL ALIGNMENT.    Neutral Good.

in depth … general cw: grief mentions, death mentions

001. For a skeleton titled ‘The Lament,’ her mourning is a quiet thing. Her home is a capsule—she leaves the lights on, the tv playing, the door unlocked. Loretta can’t stand the silence, but she won’t ever leave. Not when Tommy’s room is kept exactly how he left it. Like the dioramas they used to make for his school projects, a stale reconstruction of all he’d been and all he ever might be. She still sleeps on the sofa most nights, and wakes some mornings to find his door slightly ajar. Loretta keeps telling herself she should go down to Bone Gap Hardware to get a latch. She can’t take much more of this. Of creeping up the stairs on bated breath, wondering if he’ll be sitting on the other side.

002. cw: pet death. From the moment Thomas brought Fat Cat home, suspicious and hungry, they hated each other. She swore up and down she’d send him back to his maker every time he scratched or bit or pissed on her laundry, but when Fat Cat came yowling, Loretta always filled the bowl. Eventually, their mutual disdain dissolved into a grudging understanding of one another. Fat Cat held out for Tommy as long as he could, but nature won out several years back. As she always has, Loretta wiped her tears and dug the grave in the backyard herself. Who else was there to do it? (Later, she finds the grave disturbed, the cat gone. She tries to convince herself the scavengers of Bone Gap simply came to claim their dead. But she still hears that hungry, keening sound. Like he is waiting to be let back in.)

003. cw: parental death. Nancy Durst was a waitress who dreamed of something more. In the last few years of her life, ol’ Nance used to say that she wanted to be buried on Main Street. This whole damn town was a graveyard to her, anyway. They had an unconventional relationship, but Loretta often catches herself humming the songs she used to sing. She doesn’t think of her often. When she does, the memories are strongest in the most mundane settings—in the grocery aisle, pondering over a can of peas, Loretta finds herself reconciling with a dead woman. Though she jokes about it now, her mother was in fact not buried on Main Street as she wished. She rests at the little cemetery just down the road. The one she always hated.

004. It started as a lean-to. A place to shelter. That really is all the old building had to offer when she took out a loan and acquired the keys. All broken windows and chipping tiles, it didn’t even seem strong enough to hold up against a heavy wind. But she gave all she had to the place, and it gave back. Fat Cat Diner’s grand opening was a testament to second chances, a small bright spot of hope.

005. But certain people can’t resist peeling the wallpaper back, and Loretta’s constant picking has revealed a steady spreading rot. She has developed a vigorous cleaning habit, as if trying to keep it contained, but she can feel it growing as she makes her rounds. “That’s Loretta for you,” folks muse, oblivious so long as the coffee keeps flowing. “Always looking after us.”

006. She is always absent from Church, come Sunday. She gets along just fine with the congregants of First Assembly Baptist, it’s their savior she’s not so fond of. They’re all smiles when they flood in after a service, but judgement seems to linger at the end of every well intentioned question. (Between orders of patty melts and corned beef hash, she fields solicitations with casual rebuffs. “See you there next week, Loretta?” “Gotta be here to keep the coffee hot, Jim.”) They may not understand it, but her Sunday devotions are best practiced here—wiping congealed syrup from the counters, passing out menus instead of hymnals, replacing the damn bulb in the corner that’s always flickering.

wanted …

THERE STANDS THE GLASS.    Drinking buddies. Loretta needs someone to confide in at times, and that requires booze. A lot of it. FT. THE HOAX.

THIS HAUNTED HOUSE.    Broken porch rail? Stuck window? You name it, your muse has fixed it for her. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement between neighbors. She doesn't fall and break her neck going to work, and your muse gets a free lunch. (Think Luke fixing things for Lorelai, but the only sugar involved is the pie she offers after the job is done.) FT. THE MASK.

FEELINS.    They tried to pursue it a long, long time ago. The used-to-be's hang between them now, heavy and stinking as a corpse at the gallows. Still, they go on loving each other in silence. As if either of them has a choice.

PORTLAND, OREGON.    Just like the song, your muse and Loretta took a wild trip to Portland, Oregon years ago. Maybe they even made a pact to leave Bone Gap behind in favor of the Pacific Northwest. Well, that's all history now. And wouldn't you know it, they're both still here.

FIST CITY.    Loretta and your muse don’t always see eye to eye, but they always show up at the Diner after an argument. And she keeps letting them back in. FT. THE RABID.

[steadypour]

The Butcher: Do you have anything low cholesterol? The Lament: Napkins.

[steadypour]

- 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚜.

[steadypour]

PRESUMED INNOCENT (2024) S01E08 “The Verdict”

We will survive as a family. Okay? We love each other. We're a family, and we love each other.